“And where do you come in?”
“How do you say, American — that in this city I am known as a man who can move merchandise that might burn one’s hand. The foolish young man brought the stolen goods to me. I purchased them for a reasonable price, of course not knowing their source.”
“Of course.”
“Had I … well, no call for such speculating. To turn a profit and avoid entanglements, I wished to move the gems quickly. Through America, as always.”
“And Erich Earnst.”
“Exactly. The crystals were of special interest to me because I had never seen anything like them before….”
“Just what Earnst said.”
“They were … mesmerizing.”
“Something obviously made you request that Earnst return them to you after you sent them along.”
“I tell you this, American. My dealings with Earnst over the years were never anything but profitable. He was a man of honor and integrity.”
“But that didn’t stop you from asking for the crystals back.”
“I had no choice. A few weeks after I mailed the shipment, men came to my shop. They were well known in the Square as hired hands of Fass. They were very polite, sickeningly polite. They even purchased several items. Then they asked about the crystals. Since I knew there was no way they could know for sure that I had brokered them, of course I denied ever having seen them. They smiled and left peacefully, asking me to please contact them if I heard any talk.”
“But they still spooked you.”
Stadipopolis swallowed hard. “Not then. It was a week later. The men returned to my shop just as polite as the first time. One was holding a box in his hand and I thought they had come just to return the merchandise they had purchased, perhaps even realize a small profit on the deal I would have been all too happy to grant. They told me to open the box.” The Greek stopped, as if he had to force himself to go on. “There was a head in the box, a head belonging to the boy who had robbed Megilido Fass and then sold his booty to me.”
“So you told them about Earnst.”
“No, American, I didn’t. I would have, had they left the box containing the boy’s head with me.”
“What’s the difference?”
“The fact that they took it with them showed me they weren’t sure I was the one who had brokered the crystals. They were showing it all around the city to men like myself, waiting for one of us to break. Fass is an awful man but not prone to making unnecessary enemies in Athens. It would not suit his needs.”
“Then Fass knew nothing about Earnst.”
“He couldn’t have. If he had, Earnst would have been dead months ago and the crystals stolen back.”
“Except they were stolen … by someone else.”
“Yes,” said Stadipopolis knowingly, “and the fact that one of them is in your possession indicates you are working for that party.”
“Working with, not for.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It does to me.”
“Then let me tell you what matters to me, American. You are here searching for more of these crystals because this party has discovered their potential as a power source.”
Stadipopolis’s statement took Blaine totally by surprise. He fought not to show it. How could this man have known?
“Might be a handsome profit involved for the man who helps us locate the reserves.”
“The reserves should be buried forever, along with the rest of the crystals you possess.” The Greek’s voice was strained.
“No more riddles. I’m sick of them. What are these crystals?”
“Death has followed them everywhere, always. I didn’t know. If I had—”
McCracken reached out and grabbed a fistful of Stadipopolis’s shirt. “What are they?”
The Greek’s lips quivered. “Their origins I learned later, too late. They are the product of myth.”
“People don’t get killed for myths.”
“This myth may well turn out to be real.” And he swallowed as much air as McCracken’s squeeze allowed him. “Atlantis,” he said.
It took a few seconds for Stadipopolis’s words to sink in.
“Wait a minute,” Blaine responded, releasing his hold. “Atlantis, as in the island that sank into the sea?”
“The very same.”
“I came here for truth,” McCracken snapped. “Not phony mythology.”
“Truth, American, is a matter of perspective. Mine changed when I found a link I could not dismiss. Many believe that the people of Atlantis harnessed the sun to create a power stronger than atomic energy. They accomplished this by using a ruby-red crystal to store vast amounts of the sun’s energy for later use. Ruby red! You’ve seen it. You possess it!”
“And you’re going to help me find more.”
“No! Atlantis destroyed itself by abusing the power of its crystals. They tried to use them as weapons. I have read about this. And now I hear you tell me in so many words, American, that someone you represent is doing it again. Trying to harness the power of something man was never meant to uncover, never meant to—”
“Wait! Quiet!”
“Why do—”
“I said quiet!” Blaine rasped.
He had heard something, a boot kicking pebbles. Then more sounds, soft thuds of car doors closing gently.
Blaine’s eyes swung about him. The various tombs and monuments blocked his view of the nearby roads.
Where were they, damnit? Where?
The sounds stopped, which wasn’t a good sign, for it meant whoever it was had drawn close enough to be satisfied. Blaine thought of New York. Perhaps the same party was behind the men on 47th Street. Or perhaps they’d been sent by Fass.
Stadipopolis came a little forward. “American, what is it? What’s wrong?”
McCracken yanked his gun free of its holster. “Stay out of the light!”
“I’m not about to—”
“I said stay out—”
It was too late. The gunshots had begun.
Chapter 12
McCracken had already hit the ground when Kapo Stadipopolis’s face vanished. Blood and bone splattered everywhere, splashing up against a white stone pillar. The Greek’s corpse struck dirt an instant after Blaine plunged to the ground.
More shots echoed through the cemetery air. Footsteps pounded earth, coming closer. McCracken thought fast. The darkness was his ally. All the killers would have seen after firing their burst was two bodies going down; it would have been impossible to tell if they had been hit or not. Blaine hugged the ground and began to crawl away, pushing with his elbows, around the back of Dionysios’s tomb.
Two men in black rushed out of the darkness into the circle of light cast by one of the floodlights. McCracken fired and one gasped and crumbled. The other dove behind the cover of a monument. He called out for help, and Blaine recognized the language.
It was Russian!
Cars screeched forward on the nearby street. More doors pounded solidly. Footsteps smacked cement and then hard ground. If McCracken was going to move, it had to be now.
In the next instant, he was on his feet. The gunman behind the monument fired his automatic rifle at Blaine as he ran, and Blaine returned the fire with random shots to keep the man at bay. Blaine passed behind another tomb, a larger one with DEXILEOS chiseled in huge letters. He emerged on the other side to a new volley of staccato bursts and chips of ancient marble flying into his face. Again Blaine dove, firing at shadows in the darkness. His pistol clicked on an empty chamber and he rolled aside to snap a fresh clip home.